Crippled
by Tricki
Summary: Amanda has done herself an injury; luckily for her she has a devoted doctor at her disposal. Amanda & Simon - please R&R!


**A/N's** at the end. I can't say it without spoiling it.

**Pairing:** Amanda & Simon

**Set:** Post series, no spoilers.

**Summary**: Amanda has done herself an injury. Luckily for her she has a very devoted doctor close on hand.

**Disclaimer**: If I owned, Eva would've been so divorced way back in like... 2x14 :P

**Crippled**

"Amanda, sit down." Simon instructed firmly. The blonde had been protesting the order for three long minutes as she hobbled into their flat. She tossed her clutch into a chair and stood petulantly, staring at his retreating form until pain overtook her and she sat down. He returned to the lounge room just in time to see her do so and smiled softly to himself.

He crossed to her, hands encasing a bowl full of bottles and tubes and cotton balls, a clean white towel hanging over his arm. He knelt before her, lifting one of her legs and dropping a light kiss on the arch of her foot before proceeding to unbuckle her exquisite – but now known to be crippling – red needlepoint stilettos.

He massaged her ankle while he studied the rest of her foot.

"'Manda what exactly possessed you to buy these things? You have eight blisters on this foot alone and a twisted ankle. They hardly seem worth it to me." The surgeon commented, confusion rather than judgement in his voice.

"But they're _beautiful_." She enthused, before blushing and mumbling "and they make my legs look longer."

He ran his hands up her calves to her knees reverently.

"There's _nothing_ wrong with your legs." His voice had taken that deep, husky tone that always made her turn to jelly.

He set about unloading the various items from the bowl; she noted silently the order. Disinfectant, cotton balls, antiseptic cream. Once he finished he released her leg and proceeded about taking off the other shoe, gazing at it in wonderment.

His brow knotted. "How high are these things?"

Amanda coughed. "Only four inches." She murmured evasively.

"Amanda, you're five foot nine; it's not like you need the height."

"Well you're six four! You make me feel little." She exclaimed, eyes widening adorably in indignation.

Simon shook his head, smiling, and stood. He pressed a slow kiss to her temple and muttered into her ear: "You're impossible. Sit still and behave."

Amanda, for once, did as she was told. When Simon returned the bowl was filled with warm water, and he had another tube of some kind of cream or gel sticking out of his trouser pocket.

"Thank you," Amanda breathed gratefully, reaching for a cotton ball and some disinfectant. Simon caught her hands and held her gaze.

"What did I just say?" He chided, his lopsided grin belying his tone.

"Sit still and behave?"

"Yes."

"I thought you meant while you were gone."

"_And_ afterwards."

Amanda rolled her eyes with a wry smile. "Forgive me for not being psychic."

Her eyes widened as Simon knelt at her feet and he collected her foot again.

"What are you doing?"

"Well, I am a doctor."

"That doesn't mean you should be subjected to my feet!" Simon chuckled at the horror scrawled across her face.

"I've seen worse things than your feet, 'Manda."

"Oh, goodie. My feet are less offensive than dying children." She said, pulling her foot from his grasp and not managing to hide a wince as she did.

"You know that's not what I meant." He said softly, recapturing her foot, extending her leg and kissing an uninjured part of it unashamedly, holding her gaze to prove his point.

"Simon, that can't be hygienic." She alleged, an eyebrow arched in distaste.

"Let me do my husbandly duty." He said, setting her foot on his knee. Expertly he began to mix Dettol into the warm water before easing her foot in slowly. She whimpered as the disinfectant touched her open and bleeding blisters. He caressed her calf with his free hand and looked up at her apologetically.

"I'm sorry, gorgeous."

"It's not your fault my shoes ate my feet – or that disinfectant stings like a bastard."

"Do bastards sting, sweetheart?" He quipped cheekily.

"You should know; you're being one." She grinned.

"Might I remind you that you're in a very vulnerable position right now? I love you and I'm not planning to abuse that, but I very easily could."

"Noted." She whispered, lips curled in an ill-fought-off smile. Simon released her leg, laying the towel over his own before removing her foot from the disinfectant soak and patting it dry. She slowly immersed her other foot into the bowl and clung onto the couch in pain, trying to focus her attention on Simon rather than her blisters. He pulled out a cotton ball and began wiping over the blisters with the diluted Dettol. She whimpered loudly now, pouting pitifully. Simon looked at her challengingly.

"I feel like a complete sook, but I swear to god, this is the most painful thing that's ever happened to me _including_" she stressed, halting his imminent interruption. "My broken arm."

"I'm sorry, I'll be more sympathetic." He said, once again kissing her, this time on her knee.

"No, I'm being a drama queen." She dismissed, running her fingers through his hair.

"I've never minded before." Simon teased. Amanda clipped him over the head, glaring playfully. He looked up at her, grinning and laughing before discarding his cotton ball and busying himself with uncapping a small white tube.

Amanda sniffed at the air and crinkled her nose. "It smells like a hospital in here. Are you having withdrawals?"

"No, I just don't..."

"Want to get kicked with puss-riddled, infected feet in the middle of the night. I understand." She sassed.

"Amanda, stop talking." He instructed with a disbelieving grin.

"Consider my mouth shut." She really did endeavour to do as he'd asked, _but _she found him rather fascinating when he was in doctor mode, so her resolution wasn't longstanding. With a fresh cotton bud he applied an almost clear gel to her sores. Her eyes widened.

"Simon, why has it stopped hurting?" She asked, her tone almost accusing. He sat back on his heels to talk to her, hands clasping her ankle.

"Surgeon's secret." She raised an eyebrow at him – _'Don't play games with me, Lloyd.' _"Alright, it's not really a surgeon's secret. It's oral numbing gel."

"_Really?_"

"Really."

"Hm. Interesting." She murmured, more to herself than him. She leant forward to watch him more closely, resting her elbows on her thighs. He applied a thin layer of the numbing cream, another of antiseptic cream, and blotted it lightly before beginning to position Band-Aids over her various lesions. He repeated the entire cycle on her other foot. She watched him, wrapt. How could be he so reverent with something as trivial as her massacred feet?

Without a word he stood, only explaining himself when Amanda called "Where are you going?" after him.

"I was going to get you an ice pack."

"For blisters?" She asked, frowning. If she'd been impressed by the numbing cream it was _nothing_ compared to how awed she seemed now.

"For your twisted ankle?"

"Oh. Right."

"Should I check you for a concussion?" Simon queried, a teasing smirk on his face. Amanda glared.

"Shut up and get me an ice pack, doctor boy." Simon shook his head with a grin, folding his arms over his muscled chest before leaving the room. When he returned he sat beside her, twisting her so her feet were resting on his lap before gently applying the ice pack to her disturbingly swollen ankle. She winced slightly, and his free hand reached out and squeezed one of hers. Eventually she relaxed again, the pain from her ankle subsiding.

"You looked beautiful tonight." He said softly.

"Until my feet started gushing blood." Simon laughed, abandoning his chivalrous attempt at holding the ice pack over her ankle and pulling her closer to him. He wound his arms around her waist and nuzzled into the crook of her neck.

"It's my considered opinion as a surgeon that your feet did nothing even remotely close to _gushing _blood."

"I'm a woman. I exaggerate. It's my prerogative."

"I love you. More than anything." He said earnestly, pecking her lips sweetly.

"Obviously. Otherwise you wouldn't have willingly spent your first night as a married man fixing your wife's blisters." Simon laughed, a lazy grin spread across his face. "Not _quite_ how you expected it to go, am I right?" She grinned cheekily, a little apologetically.

"Actually as soon as I saw those shoes I had a fair idea."

"I'm sorry."

"Amanda, I didn't marry you because you have sensible taste in shoes."

"Well, I didn't marry you so you could fix my feet when I break them. Although, I do appreciate it."

"Any time."

"You know I'm going to take you up on that." She cautioned.

"I wouldn't have it any other way." Simon grinned, kissing the tip of her nose and then ducking his head to inhale the much beloved smell of her golden tresses. He lightly fingered a flower in her hair, caressing the curl it was nestled in and then letting his fingers roam down her neck to trace her collarbone. "You really do look beautiful." He whispered.

"Thank you." She replied equally softly, twisting her head to kiss the fingers on her shoulder.

"So is there any chance we can have less than ten thousand layers of silk between us?" He asked, eyes once more taking a moment to appreciate the cream gown. He marvelled at the way it clung to her torso, framing her every curve; the grace with which the off-the-shoulder cut highlighted her delicate clavicle, and then, most impressively, the way the skirt flared into the ocean of silk he was currently half underneath.

Amanda smiled. "I was starting to think you'd never ask."

"Do you think you can walk?" He watched calculations fly behind her eyes, before she finally uttered a coy: "No..."

He slid out from under her legs, standing before her and lifting her into his arms. She giggled, winding her arms around his neck.

"Aren't we a walking cliché?" Simon teased as he carried her into the bedroom.

Amanda considered at length. "Blisters considered, we're something straight out of Grimm's."

* * *

**A/N:** Well! This COMPLETELY didn't start out as a wedding fic! This started out because I bought new shoes {FLAT ONES! How can you be crippled by flat shoes?}, got ten blisters in total and was more than a little annoyed. So, I started pondering how much better it would be if I had a doctor at my beck and call. Hence: this. I don't actually know if the numbing cream works just FTR, what with my not being a doctor. Please review! I've never had an MDA review.


End file.
